


Introspection and Starlight

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale apologizes, Aziraphale has anxiety, Crowley is a tired beanpole, Crowley is rightfully upset, Crucifixion mention, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, He spirals at least once, Hopeful Ending, Hurt by circumstance, Hurt/Comfort, Just because Crowley is a demon doesn’t mean he should be taken advantage of, M/M, Other, Scene: Crucifixion of Jesus 33 AD (Good Omens), Soft whumps, They don’t gloss over the fact that history happened, Trapped by their circumstances, Would you like some Fluff with your Angst?, and Depression probably, trauma is a reason but not an excuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: In his quiet, innermost thoughts Aziraphale often felt like that himself, like white water rapids barely contained in a teacup threatening to shatter the fragile container with their raging and churning. He was the favored teacup; the one that was well-used and comfortable, but that ultimately needed- perhaps even deserved-  gentle handling. After all, it would never be the teacup's fault when clumsy handling broke it past all hope of repair, right? He knew that, after 6000 years of life, there were certainly some chips at his rim and base, but he thought that was probably alright. Surely it meant he was well-loved… surely it must. He did not like to think on what it might say about him were that not the case.Aziraphale thinks to himself in the darkness of the Mayfair flat, the night the world had been meant to end but didn’t, while Crowley sleeps in the bed next to him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 226
Collections: Chaotic Omens: The Fallout of a Big Bang





	Introspection and Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh)and [samvelg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samvelg) who ripped this to shreds and then made me fix it. This would have been a much poorer fic without your beta eyes on it.

Outside the security of the flat's walls, the rain was coming down in sheets, the humidity chilling the already cold air as a veritable monsoon pounded down. Darkness crept up the walls, growing in size only to be held back by the faint glow of an angel's halo. Aziraphale sat up against the headboard of Crowley's bed while the demon himself slept, completely oblivious to the violence of the storm outside. His reserves were entirely depleted, never having been so tested as they were by stopping time and standing against the devil himself in a single afternoon (to say nothing of whatever he had endured on his drive from London to arrive in such spectacular fashion). But Aziraphale was still up. Though, of course, he rarely slept in the first place as he didn't have a need or even much desire for that particular indulgence. 

To be honest, he wouldn't have been able to sleep even had he been inclined to. The worry about what it all meant filled him to overflowing, like white water rapids barely contained in a teacup threatening to shatter the fragile container with their raging and churning. In his quiet, innermost thoughts Aziraphale often felt like that himself. He was the favored teacup; the one that was well-used and comfortable, but that ultimately needed- perhaps even deserved- gentle handling. After all, it would never be the teacup's fault when clumsy handling broke it past all hope of repair, right? He knew that, after 6000 years of life, there were certainly some chips at his rim and base, but he thought that was probably alright. Surely it meant he was well-loved… surely it must. He did not like to think on what it might say about him were that not the case.

What were they going to do once this entire go at saving the world culminated? Finished its churning, each side settling down to plot their next moves. To what end, he did not know, likely something that would leave Crowley and himself worse off. Because it  _ would _ culminate in  _ something _ of that nature he was sure, even if he was sure of nothing else just then. Their respective sides would be after them for daring to oppose the Great Plan (at least on his part, Crowley’s side of things might just be after him for a bit of fun, who knew with demons). Aziraphale took a deep, unnecessary breath. It just wasn’t acceptable that after all of this, after all these years, as soon as they’d made a stand on their Own Side they might be pulled apart entirely. 

Aziraphale knew and accepted that he was rather obstinate. Stubborn even, and set in his ways. He could be a bit blind, too. He looked away from the book he wasn’t really reading anymore and his eyes snagged against the sharp angles of the demon next to him. The demon's jagged edges were blurred to almost nothing by exhaustion and sleep, and he sighed softly at the thought of just how blind he’d been. 

Because, he must have been willfully blind to miss this, must have made excuses and thought up justifications for all the questions Crowley had never asked, even as Aziraphale could see them pass through his eyes or over his glasses. Worse than that, he must have chosen blindness to have missed the  _ love _ that poured from Crowley. Because that was exactly what had happened, wasn’t it? He’d made excuses for 6,000 years. Of course the vast majority of them were to ensure he could stay on Earth with HER last creation and enjoy their earthly, human things. And some of them were on behalf of a demon that neither needed nor wanted the pretext. Of course, Crowley also made his own excuses, but they were never for spending time with the angel; he never rationalized the  _ devotion _ that fell off him in waves, at least not as far as Aziraphale knew.

It was Aziraphale who had pointedly never spoken of it, who had thought to himself this was just an odd demon, one who felt love all the time, who somehow hadn’t lost that spark of divine love while Falling. Aziraphale told himself that this was why he’d sought Crowley out after the Crucifixion when that endless love had stuttered for a moment but come back in full force. Because, if a demon could love so well, then couldn’t an angel also indulge?

Surely at least  _ one _ could.

As if summoned by his idle thought, sun-scorched memories of the Crucifixion assailed Aziraphale, so very at odds with the comfort of the storm outside the flat windows. It had been a singularly horrid moment and he remembered it with awful, gut-churning clarity. Crowley was a woman at the time, had Tempted the Christ with kindness before he was risen up on crudely cut beams of wood, crying out all the while for HER to forgive those who had put him there. For all those who watched in horror and for all those who watched in apathy. Aziraphale had been one of those, his horror had transcended him some time ago and turned to vaguely timid apathy. There was nothing he could do, in fact, he'd been ordered to ensure that there was nothing  _ anyone _ could do. Policy, like he'd told Crowley, words like lye ash in his mouth.

It was there that the foundation upon which he built his world was shaken. He’d built himself up on Crowley’s love, it was as constant as any other law of the universe - things decayed, it was difficult to start moving again once one stopped, eventually things falling would reach terminal speed if nothing stopped it beforehand, and Crowley loved him. Before then, Aziraphale hadn’t known it could be shaken, that this foundation he built his understanding of the world on might have been sand after all instead of firm stone. That one, detestable word,  _ Policy _ . Now, safe in Crowley’s bed, Aziraphale nearly spat at the thought as his mouth filled with memories of the bile that had spilled from him after he’d escaped the spectacle, still reeling from that terrible revelation.

Yes, it had come back, of course it had, but what if it shook again? What if he leaned into it too hard and it broke? Aziraphale sighed. He ran a hand over his face and let it fall to the bed by his hip. Justifications again, worries overtaking him again. Crowley deserved more than this endless loop of excuses, this everlasting dance Aziraphale continued to pull away from. Crowley deserved more than Policy dictating Aziraphale’s actions, or his inactions.

Almost against his will, his hand fisted in the blankets between himself and Crowley. Even now he couldn’t help but make excuses and justifications. It was a difficult habit to break, and not one he was confident he’d be able to. 

Perhaps if Crowley helped - but no, that would only be even more cruel of him, wouldn’t it? And Crowley certainly didn’t deserve his cruelty, Crowley didn’t deserve  _ anyone’s _ cruelty. He certainly deserved much better than Aziraphale. 

He sighed aloud and reached out to the demon beside him once more. This time he’d do better, this time he’d _ be  _ better. And maybe, one day, if they lived through all of this, he might eventually be good for Crowley the way Crowley was good for him. This time his fingertips didn’t fall short - didn’t pull back at the last second - but they also didn’t press forward the way Aziraphale wanted them to. Instead, they alighted delicately on the curve of Crowley’s face, soft pads at the tips of his fingers stroking along smooth skin stretched over a sharp jawline.

It stung a little, deep in his chest, to think that he wasn’t good for Crowley. That of the two of them, an angel and a demon, it had been the  _ angel _ causing more harm than good. An angel hurting a demon, just the way things were meant to be. Per Policy, of course. 

No. 

That shouldn’t matter, it  _ didn’t _ matter. 

Crowley was...Crowley was a living creature made of HER Love and included in those Aziraphale ought to love as well. And he did, love Crowley that is. He Loved him too, but this lower-case love was more personal. Had less of GOD in it and more of his own soul. He loved Crowley in the way that humans loved each other and in the way that bees loved flowers and in the way he loved his books and his food and drink, and he loved Crowley with every little emotion along the way and not just those big upper-case ones.

“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, barely more than a sighing breath. And then, because he liked the way it felt in his mouth, “Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale set his book aside and shuffled carefully to lay on his side. He held his breath, doing his best not to wake the serpent and winced as it proved to be in vain. 

“ ‘Szwhatz happ-” Crowley was cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn, “ ‘Ziraphale?”

“Shh darling, go back to sleep.” Now that he’d been caught out, Aziraphale prepared to pull his hand away, when Crowley turned his head and nuzzled against the touch, pressing his cheek into the palm of Aziraphale’s hand. 

His breath hitched. 

He felt like he’d been given a gift, the kind that couldn’t come without some great sacrifice. The kind which felt like being flayed open and brought low so that he could be made whole and clean again. With Crowley’s cheek cradled in his palm and his other hand reaching up to press against the side of Crowley’s neck, his whole world fit between his hands. 

Aziraphale wept.

Crowley startled into wakefulness, threw the covers off in a flurry of movement and scanned the room for whatever could have caused his angel to cry, only to falter when there wasn’t anything to be seen. 

“Aszziraphale?” Crowley slurred, worry and the unique exhaustion of an adrenaline crash feeding back into the overworked weariness of the day to steal what little energy he'd mustered. He shivered lightly as the cold night air outside the covers seemed to leech the warmth from his bare torso. He flopped back onto the bed and turned to face Aziraphale. Crowley reached out and cupped his cheeks - far too tired to bother hiding his affection - and brushed tears from his angel’s skin with calloused thumbs. “Angel, what’s wrong?” 

Aziraphale shuddered and closed his eyes, leaning into Crowley’s hands. In a fit of daring bolstered by Crowley’s obvious affections and his previous thoughts, he dragged Crowley closer to him with an arm around his waist, pressing his forehead into the demon’s chest. Crowley tensed for a heartbeat, a terrible moment in which Aziraphale composed a dozen excuses for his behavior, all scrambling for the tip of his tongue and leaving him unable to say anything at all, and certainly not through the remnants of tears still streaming from his eyes. 

Then, the demon relaxed his muscles, sliding his hands from Aziraphale’s cheeks to wrap around his back and return the embrace. His chin lay atop Aziraphale’s head, encasing the angel with his arms and body. They breathed in unison, or rather, Crowley breathed deeply and Aziraphale slowly wrestled his shuddering sobs under control, his head rose and fell with every inhale and exhale of Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale shuffled closer, pulling Crowley to him until it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the next began.

“Angel?” Crowley desperately fought to stay awake, but the heat of the soft body wrapped around him and the press of Aziraphale’s head on his chest made it difficult to open eyes which never should have had eyelids in the first place. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale murmured, lips brushing over the planes of Crowley’s chest with every syllable, uncovered and reveling in the touch of his angel. “Crowley, I’m sorry.”

“F’r wha’, Angel?” Crowley hummed and dragged a hand up to cup the base of Aziraphale’s neck, curling around him just that much more; a staunch protector who might be able to keep the person most precious to him safe with the press of his body alone.

“For, oh for  _ everything _ , my dear.” 

Aziraphale scraped his fingernails back and forth along the skin stretched over Crowley’s hips and spine, an unexpected and exceedingly pleasant sensation which only made it harder for the demon to remain awake. He thought blearily that he would be perfectly content to remain like this, wrapped around his angel and the recipient of his whole attention, for a very long time. Probably for another eternity, maybe as long as the first seven Days had been long. Maybe longer.

“‘S fine.” 

“No, no it is not.” Aziraphale’s voice turned stern as he pulled back, just enough to confuse the sleep-addled serpent into blinking, so he could look him in the eye. “It is  _ not _ alright, I said  _ awful _ things to you. I didn’t mean any of it, that I didn’t like you or that we were over, all I said at the bandstand, my dear boy. But I still said them. I said them to hurt you. I was," here he had to pause for a moment to swallow back the sobs that rose again in his throat, "I was deliberately  _ cruel _ to you, Crowley!"

Feeling far more awake than he had been before the admission, Crowley shushed Aziraphale, rocking them back and forth - a little afraid Aziraphale might start crying again given how his voice broke on those words.

“Okay, fine, not alright. But I’m not mad about it. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re afraid, angel. ‘S nothing different.”

“But it  _ was _ , I’ve been cruel to you for so many years. I know you love me, I can feel it and have since Rome, dear.” Crowley went still, his eyes wide as they sought something in Aziraphale's face. There was a terrible mix of horror, relief, anger, and the ever-present love pressing out from Crowley, begging for release.

“You knew?” Crowley’s voice broke softly, little more than a whisper in the night and the death of a star millions of lightyears away. 

Aziraphale could only nod, knowing it was wrong but wished he’d been unable to stop himself from pulling Crowley close again to hide his shame in the demon’s chest. But he did, the master of repression, him. Aziraphale cruelly, selfishly wanted to return to the comfort of Crowley’s embrace, even after so blatantly wronging him. He wouldn’t, but he  _ wanted _ to. He thought maybe he hated himself for that desire. 

“All that time, all that going on and on about sensing love and that rot, you knew about mine?” Aziraphale nodded once more and cast his eyes down, unable to watch how Crowley’s face shifted between those emotions, each too difficult to bear on its own. He felt ready to cry again, but the burn of his eyes had nothing on the tearing sensation in his heart.

“And you didn’ say anythin’?” Crowley breathed slowly and deeply, forcing himself away from hyperventilating or any other physical indicators he was upset. 

Aziraphale nodded again, miserably whispering, “I’m so sorry. I was afraid.”

Crowley sighed into the dark. “I know.”

“I really am sorry, Crowley. You didn’t deserve that. If I could have-”

“I know.” Crowley cut off whatever the confession was going to be, he couldn’t hear it tonight. Not right now, not with his muscles still aching and his skin still raw from the sparks that had flown from the Bentley. “I know, Aziraphale. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but he did know. Probably. He thought he knew, and that was enough for now.

“Just… go to sleep, Angel.” Silence fell, save for their breaths in tandem. Even as Aziraphale kept his breathing steady, it didn’t do much to save him from the hell that was his own mind, the torture of his thoughts. He spiralled ever downward into them like a bird with a broken wing, tips unable to catch at air enough to hoist itself back up. If he didn’t say it now, would they have time later? Would there be a later at all? Crowley had been furious and hurt, and rightfully so, what if this was a second stutter? What if this is what broke that stone foundation Aziraphale lived on into sand again only to be washed out by the oncoming tides the could already feel pulling at him? If Aziraphale couldn’t screw up whatever courage he had in his sad, sorry self right  _ now _ , would he ever have the chance again? If he couldn’t say it to Crowley, it felt like he might die beyond discorporating.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“I love you.” The words burst from Aziraphale’s lips like some trumpet sounded by holy decree. Ill fitting and too loud for such a small space that existed between them, but Truth nonetheless. 

Crowley didn’t respond, not right away. He couldn’t. “I know.”

“And you’re not unforgivable.” 

Crowley didn’t respond to that at all.

“I shouldn't have said that I forgave you. That was cruel, too. You're not unforgivable and you did not need my forgiveness.” 

Crowley only sighed and closed his eyes.“Go to sleep.”

“Alright. I’ll try.”

“‘S all I ask.” 

Crowley made no move to shift away from Aziraphale so, cocooned in the darkness and with his head against Crowley's chest, Aziraphale felt at once lighter than air and as if he was being pressed down by the firmament of Heaven in an embrace so comforting he couldn’t help but drift off feeling safe and comforted. 

But, not before saying at least once more, “I love you.”

And not before hearing the soft whisper, a star born millions of lightyears away, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my lord, cassieoh [drew something for this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622524/chapters/50862904) and I'm feral about it tbh
> 
> Please go praise them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Binary Systems](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622524) by [cassieoh_draws (cassieoh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/pseuds/cassieoh_draws)


End file.
